


Rook

by MasterFinland



Series: Victoria, Victoria [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Faux Heat, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Heat-Inducing Drugs, Kind of dubious consent, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Marriage, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Part 1, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night, Weddings, but im not sure how to tag it, fuckin nerd, hes known her a week and hes already in love, minor exhibitionism, more tags to come, some mild public masturbation, theres some other stuff like symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterFinland/pseuds/MasterFinland
Summary: He is afraid, because he does not know her, but he is eager to learn. His heart hammers against his ribcage.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/Female England (Hetalia)
Series: Victoria, Victoria [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927105
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Rook

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for your support!

Alice takes a deep, shaky breath.

The lace around her neck is like a second skin, flush against her throat - her mind supplies that it’s almost like a collar, that she is nothing more than a glorified pet, but she shifts her attention to the swell of her skirts before her thoughts can stray any further - and she can feel it when she swallows. Her mother’s lady-in-waiting yanks the ribbons on her corset forcefully, and Alice gasps, trembling hands dropping from the wall to the desk in front of her. Her jewelry knocks against the wood loudly, sharp and unpleasant, and she winces through a startled wheeze.

She struggles to take in air around the pressure, and coughs quietly.

The woman behind her makes a nasty noise in the back of her throat, and kicks the back of Alice’s leg. She straightens back up on the exhale, and shifts her position slightly, so breathing is no longer as painful. Alice bites her lip hard to keep from making any sound, and her throat itches with the strain.

The staff started doping her up with pheromones hours ago and have been pumping her full of them since her first dose at dawn, and her gums ache terribly where her canines threaten to fully poke through. Her vision is becoming hazy, but whether or not that’s from the medication she’s been swallowing since breakfast or the lack of oxygen to her brain, she isn’t sure. She feels feverish, and her stomach twists at odd intervals. She locks her knees anxiously as she begins to rock forward in an effort to ease the cramping in her hips, blinking at the swirling patterns of her sleeves. It won’t be long before the faux-heat takes her over completely, and she can only hope that her body holds out until after the feast, when she and her new husband are shut away for the evening.

Her ears burn at the very idea, ashamed and excited at the same time. She shakes her head to clear the thick fog clouding her mind, and some loosely-pinned strawberry curls fall, dropping to her neck to tickle behind her ears. One peek in the mirror assures her that it actually looks better this way, so she doesn’t say anything to the half-blind maid. She looks back down at her hands, and her knuckles are an ugly white.

The maid secures the strings in a hefty bow just above her bustle, resting on the exaggeration of her skirt, and Alice takes a few of the deepest breaths she can manage. 

She stretches discreetly, and the maid ignores her as she drops to her knees to fluff the bottom of Alice’s wedding gown. It is off-white, and the realization makes Alice want to puke. 

“Stop moving, girl,” the maid orders, and Alice stills in place obediently. She tilts her head to stare blankly at the ceiling, but she doesn’t think of anything at all, easily losing herself in the rhythmic tugging on her gown.

It only takes another few minutes for the old woman to finish, and then she is turning Alice around to pin her veil into her hair. She tucks it into itself, leaving it loose enough to easily pull down over her face. Alice wonders, with thoughts like molasses through her daze, who will be watching Leon for the night, but her attention is limited like this, and it only takes the maid fastening ivory pearls around her neck to distract her.

Alice sighs through her nose, the necklace heavy against her collarbone. She remains in place, immobile and exhausted, waiting patiently for her father to come get her. He will be walking her down the aisle within the hour, and then Alice will be another man’s, living in his home and sleeping in his bed. 

She becomes numb to the pins and needles in her legs the longer she waits, and she almost hopes that her father will not come and get her, that she will spend the rest of her life suspended in this single moment of freedom. Dread and arousal war inside of her, and her stomach cramps in desperation. She still doesn’t move, even when the clock strikes seven, and the sun drops below the horizon. 

* * *

The ceremony and following banquet pass in a blur of motion, of music and bright lights. 

Alfred can barely distinguish his bride walking down the aisle from her sitting silently beside him at the head of the table, his head spinning. He feels like he’s watching tonight happen through an observer's eyes, not really experiencing what should be one of the best days of his life. 

His mother spends half the evening fussing over his suit, brushing away dust that isn’t really there and fiddling with his tie. His father spends the same amount of time crying, holding Alfred’s face in his hands and pressing kisses across his freckled cheeks and nose. 

His mother takes her seat when the music begins, but Alfred’s father stays on the altar with him, settles himself behind him, sniffling and clearly trying not to burst tears. Alfred keeps his eyes on the door, both in the moment and not present at all, his heart lodged in his throat. There is dread at the base of his spine, and trepidation in his stomach, but there is also excitement that makes his breath leave him in anxious huffs, chest wobbly and light.

He is afraid, because he does not know her, but he is eager to learn. His heart hammers against his ribcage.

When Alice walks in she is small, dwarfed by the size of the Viscount at her side, but she is the only thing Alfred can see. Her hair is somehow redder in the low light, and her gown, with lace train longer than Alfred is tall, follows her practiced movements like an afterthought. She stares right back at Alfred, but Alfred can’t see her face with the veil in the way, so he has to wait until she is standing before him, until her father has passed her off, to meet her eyes.

They are dark, and it takes Alfred a moment to remember what his mother said about what they do to omegas here on their wedding nights. He takes her hands instead of thinking about it, and rubs his thumbs over the backs of them. She blinks at him, flushed pink in awe, and Alfred smiles, warm and adoring. 

The priest begins to speak, and even though Alfred never looks away from his bride, he listens closely for his cue.

“You look…” Alfred breathes, voice low and barely audible, “gorgeous.”

Alice exhales shakily, eyes wide and shining. Alfred grins, his ears hot, and Alice smiles, averting her gaze. She squeezes his hands instead of responding verbally, soft and shy, and Alfred nearly misses his lines, too enamored with the woman in front of him to keep paying attention to anything but her.

When the priest tells him to kiss her after what feels like an eternity, Alfred lifts her veil with numb fingers, and freezes, red in the face and so tangled up inside that he can’t tell if the emotions he’s feeling are positive or negative. 

Alice smiles at him, then, and after a moment takes pity on him, cups his face with thin, nimble fingers, gentle and featherlight against his trembling jaw, and kisses him. Alfred sees fireworks behind his eyes, and kisses her back.

* * *

Alice’s shoulders are shaking uncontrollably by a little after nine, and Alfred can see a thin sheen of sweat dampening her skin; the torchlight makes her glisten, and Alfred can’t help but think that she seems to be glowing, ethereal and otherworldly. 

He feels unworthy of sitting next to her.

She’s beautiful, and Alfred wants desperately to talk to her. He wants to see her turn a pretty pink when he smiles at her, like she did the first time they had dinner together. He wants to take her trembling hand to press a kiss to the back of it, like he had when he met her, smelling the rush of pheromones she’d released in surprise. He wants to know everything about her, wants to talk and talk and talk until he can’t anymore, until she is forced to fill the silence, not because she has to but because she wants to. He wants to kiss her again, wants to feel her fingers dance against his jaw.

He wants to take her hand, he realizes, but instead he grips tightly to his trousers, because she is far, far away, mind somewhere else entirely. Her perfume is fading, and he can smell her heat pheromones, sitting this closely to her. He swallows thickly, his nostrils flaring, and forces himself back into the conversation at his right, trying his hardest to pay attention. Nothing is making sense to him, like he’s listening to a foreign language he’s never heard before. 

Alice shifts a little closer to him, and he spares her a glance before turning away again. She just stares at him, eyes hooded and bright. Her pupils are so dilated he almost can’t see the green of her irises. She is pink to her ears, and the color disappears beneath the neck of her dress; Alfred imagines that it has probably bloomed across her chest by now.

“Alfred?” She questions, quiet. The rest of the world disappears, then, and Alfred feels a shiver rock his spine when her fingertips brush his thigh. His gaze locks onto her hand, breath rattling in his lungs. Alfred swallows thickly and Alice purrs when his Adam's apple bobs. His cheeks burn. 

“Yeah?” He whispers back, voice cracking. She flattens her hand and squeezes gently, and Alfred squeaks, muscles jumping at the touch. Alice makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, and leans her feverish head against his arm. Alfred abandoned his outer coat the moment he could get away with it, but he thinks he would probably be able to feel the searing heat of her skin even with it.

Alfred suddenly wants to see her neck so, so badly, saliva pooling in his mouth as his gums begin to ache. His canines threaten to break through, and when Alice opens her mouth to speak again, Alfred can see that her own teeth are already elongated. Her gums aren’t bleeding like his, but they are irritated; he wonders how long she’s been like this.

“My stomach hurts,” she croaks, pulling Alfred’s hand into her own lap. Alfred has no idea when she’d let go of him, when she’d wrapped her arms completely around his own, but he doesn’t really care. Alfred is forced to breathe through his mouth to prevent his teeth from tearing through his tingling gums when she rocks forward into his touch, his knuckles brushing against her lower belly. 

“O-Oh?” He swallows a mixture of his own blood and spit, and his vision swims. Alice presses his hand between her thighs, spread a little bit wider on her chair than they were before. It is discreet, and Alfred looks away for half a moment to make sure that no one is paying attention to them. 

“Mhm…” she breathes, and Alfred turns back to her, gasps when his fingers find something warm and wet through the fabric of her dress. Alice exhales a moan, and her hands grip tightly to his wrist.

“W-We-  _ fuck, _ we can’t do this here, baby.”

Alice whimpers, grips tighter to Alfred’s wrist like he might pull away. Her nails dig into his skin, and Alfred tilts himself in his chair to face her better. “Please?” 

Alfred feels like he might cry, because all he can smell is  _ her, _ but there are way too many people around for him to do anything about it. Alfred brushes against the damp heat again, curling his knuckles into it, and Alice presses her face back into his sleeve, just above his elbow. He keeps his breathing steady, staring intently at the place where his hand disappears in the off-white ruffles of his new wife’s skirts.

To anyone else it would look like they were whispering, Alice’s mouth moving silently around nonwords, Alfred mouthing little kisses to her temple. Alfred keeps his hand still for Alice to roll her hips against. She is getting wetter, her cunt leaking so much slick that Alfred can feel it through her layers of gown, can smell it over the food. He has no idea what he’s doing, but Alice doesn’t seem to mind, content to pleasure herself beneath the dinner table. 

Alice hiccups when she cums, hips stuttering as she rides it out. More pheromones flood his nose, and Alfred’s fingers shake with effort. She loosens her grip and he places his hand on her thigh, massaging with his thumb until her trembling subsides. His throat rumbles near-silently, but the just vibrations are enough to calm Alice down for the time being. 

Alice is able to peel herself away long enough to pick at the chicken on her plate. She eats for less than ten minutes before another wave of heat rolls through her, makes her shudder and gasp and give Alfred a desperate, pleading look. Alfred knows, instinctively, what it means, and he stands so quickly that his chair knocks against the wall. He excuses the both of them, takes her hand and leads her from the hall.

They barely make it to the bedroom before Alice is kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> part two of the wedding night will be out soon! <3


End file.
